Prey
by agreyrainbow
Summary: "There are two reasons why people come to Ikebukuro: either you're looking for something, or running away from it. So tell me, Reina-chan," His voice is low and husky as Izaya cups her face in his hands. "Which one are you? The hunter or the hunted?" IzayaOC


**C** hapter **O** ne

 _Don't you dare_

 _look out your window –_

 _Darling, everything's on fire_

 _._

A grey sky is a widow's sky, bedarkened and weeping. The clouds are conniving and callous, like criminals conspiring in a dark alley. They smother the sun, strangling the light with frosty fingers as they spit pearls of sopping moisture, pummelling down like rapid-fire bullets on concrete rooftops. Frantic footsteps beat against the pavement as people scurry for cover, while a flurry of umbrellas bloom from their metal shafts – a bouquet of synthetic flowers for the sky that mourns the sun.

With her head pressed against the window, Kuroha Reina watches as her breath fogs up the tempered glass, streaked with translucent snakes slithering down the rectangular pane. Through it, the city begins to reveal itself from the veil of rain as the bullet train pulls closer towards its destination. Tall commercial buildings - illuminating with neon lights - puncture the monochrome sky with an explosion of colour; a rainbow kaleidoscope reflecting off mirrored windows and the wet-slick sheen of asphalt. They disappear as the train enters the station, like a scene cutting out as if reaching the end of a film tape.

' _This train is stopping at Ikebukuro Station. Next stop: Ikebukuro Station.'_

The platform is bustling with the hustle of commuters travelling in and out of the city. Reina dodges the throng of people - too immersed in their phones to notice her – and heads east towards the Seibu East Exit.

Her breath is white smoke. It expels in warm puffs, churning like milk froth before dissipating in the crisp air. A boorish breeze rakes a shaky hand through her hair, tousling the black tendrils as it grazes her cheek with the cold metal rings on its fingers. Shivering, Reina pulls her parker tighter around herself before stepping out from beneath the shelter of the station.

The rain spills onto her clothes, water soaking into the fabric and sticking to her body like a second skin. The trip is a short ten-minute walk that took her out of the main streets. Her face is a blank canvas as she faces the dingy apartment before her, droplets clinging to sparse eyelashes like fresh morning dew on a blade of grass.

Reina climbs the steps to the second floor, the short heel of her ankle-boots clacking until she pauses in front of (what used to be) a white door - if not for the layer of paint peeling away to reveal the scratchy timber beneath it. At the centre, the number '4' was carved haphazardly into the wood where a number plate was missing. Eyebrows furrowing, Reina fishes for her phone to check the address again, eyes darting forth between the device in her hand and the miserable door that stood before her.

It wasn't a mistake.

Reina sighs.

With a tight grip on her duffel bag in one hand, she knocks against the door with the other – three hesitant crotchet beats.

Nothing.

Reina tries again, except this time quicker. Her knuckles rap a staccato rhythm until the door suddenly swings open and she almost punches whoever in the face.

A tall red-headed woman - all leggy and bosomy – leans against the frame, a lit cigarette burning between her fingers. She takes a long drag, eyes shutting for a few moments, before exhaling heavily; smoke tumbling in grey waves like a ripped scarf hanging from barbed wire. A black, strapless mini dress hugs her curvaceous figure, exposing generous amounts of creamy skin. Lean body, taut stomach, and sooty eyelashes that brush the sky like feathered fans.

She opens her eyes, regarding Reina with a surly expression. "Are you his next appointment?" Her voice is raspy, dilated pupils giving her a once-over. "You look _way_ too young for this line of work."

Reina frowns. "Appointment?"

"I guess not. Even a bastard like him should have _some_ morals at least." The woman takes one last hit of her cigarette before tossing it on the ground, crushing the glowing butt with the heel of her stiletto-clad foot. She beckons Reina inside with a jerk of her head, holding the door long enough for the younger girl to enter the apartment.

Reina coughs. The stench of alcohol and cigarette ash choke the room, a white haze of lingering smoke assaults her nostrils. The kitchen counter is overrun with all kinds of booze (cans, bottles, bags), and crusty dried soup stains the carpet where hollow cup noodles litter the floor.

On the couch a black-haired man lies unconscious, his shirt discarded in a heap on the floor beside him. He appears to be in his mid-thirties, if not for the unkempt stubble growing in patches like the forgotten backyard of an abandoned home. His lower body – _fortunately_ \- was covered by an old cotton throw, frayed at the edges from years of mistreatment.

The red-head bends down and swipes the denim pants underneath the coffee table, manicured claws digging through the pockets for a tattered pleather wallet and an unopened deck of cigarettes. She curses audibly under her breath, taking three ten-thousand-yen bills before flinging the wallet and pants on the floor. Pulling the sleeves of her knock-off designer coat over her arms, the woman catches Reina staring, and offers a nonchalant shrug before lighting up another cigarette.

"Tell him: til he pays what he owes me, don't call me again."

And then she's gone. The door slams shut with a definite bang, leaving behind a trail of smoke before it too vanishes from sight. The man jerks awake, the sound kick-starting his heart as he lurches upright, wincing while pressing his eyes against the heel of his palms. He remains still for a minute or two before his hands fall away and their eyes meet for the first time – a shade of gunmetal-blue that identically matches her own.

Except, his were heavily bloodshot. They squish into two thin lines as he squints up at her.

"You're not Aiko." He murmurs, almost accusingly.

Reina flicks her gaze towards the door from which the red-haired woman – _Aiko?_ \- had disappeared. She briefly wonders if that was even her real name. "She said you were short and took whatever you had on you."

"Oh." A pause. Then, "You're Rei…ko?"

"…Reina."

"Right." The man says while yawning, his arms reaching over his head as he stretches. Suddenly he whips his head to face her again, mouth still wide open in an O-shape. "Wait, weren't you supposed to be coming on Tuesday?"

Steel-blue eyes blinks once. "Today _is_ Tuesday." Reina deadpans.

"Is it? Fucking hell." He takes a can of beer from the table and raises it to his lips – only to discover that it was empty. He throws it over his shoulder, tinkling a tin tune behind him. "Well… I'm your – you know what, just call me Haru."

He extends his hand out towards her, but she doesn't take it, instead remaining rooted to the spot.

The silence that ensued was an awkward one, barging into the room unannounced like an unwelcomed guest and scratching its armpit as if it is nobody's business. Haru sighs, rubbing the back of his head, then points to a spot behind her.

"Bathroom is on the left. The hot water cuts out ten minutes after you turn it on, so you gotta be quick." His finger slices through the air and points at another room. "You can have that one. Was gonna put some stuff in for you, but you're here now…so…" he shrugs, voice trailing off into nothingness.

Reina, accepting this as a form of conclusion, heads towards the room he just directed. It was a small box of a room, empty except for the bare duvet and mattress that lay press against the back wall. A hanging lamp shade with a missing light globe droops from the centre of the ceiling, suspended in time, as a thin layer of dust collected on the hard-black shell.

Her bag drops to the floor with a dull thud. She pulls out a towel, some dry clothes, and toiletries to take to the bathroom. Making sure to lock the door after her, Reina sheds her rain-soaked clothes, discarding them carelessly aside in her hurry to shower. After waiting thirty seconds for the hot water to come through, she lets it pour over her, the sound of the shower running a white-noise that drowns out the rest of the world.

Haru is dressed in a plain black t-shirt and grey tracksuit pants when she steps out of the bathroom. He doesn't notice her, too busy clearing the table of its contents as Reina slips back quietly into the other room. _Her_ room. That's going to take some time getting used to. The idea of it leaves a liquorice aftertaste in her mouth.

So is the thought that the man outside - Shibata Haruto – is her uncle. Almost unfathomable, really, if not for the distinguishable, hereditary blue eyes.

Reina thinks of her mother - of the silky black hair twisted into a sophisticated bun. A white chiffon blouse with the frilly neckline, tucked beneath a grey pencil skirt that cut just above the knee. As one of the most renown barristers in Shinjuku, Kuroha Kanna is… _was_ a proud, respectable woman. The kind that exudes authority and an indomitable spirit – in and outside the courtroom.

But to Reina she was simply _okaa-san_. She remembers the faint smell of instant coffee in the morning, accompanied by the sizzling of scrambled eggs and crunchy toast. Her mother would always insist on have breakfast together every day, because she could not guarantee that she will be home for dinner.

She was a warm person, all sunshine and honey-glossed tones.

And gone.

She releases her hair from the coiled towel. It tumbles over her shoulder in waves, fanning out over the mattress beside her like a tar-dipped sickle. Reina didn't want to think about her mother's death, but her mind betrays her. She remembers blood – the tangy, metallic taste of it in her mouth. The silver glint of a flick blade sneering with insidious intent, and the sound of smacking wet flesh atop a kitchen bench as a coffee mug shatters on tiled floor. A woman's hand, limp and lifeless, dangles from the counter.

Hands covering her mouth, Reina hurdles forward, staggering towards the bathroom. She must have caught Haru's attention, because she catches a glimpse his shadow on the ceramic bowl as she retches, the acidic burn of bile punching her tongue as saliva dribbles from her lip. Her body convulses heavily, heart beating erratically against her ribcage as she gulps hungrily for air. Cold sweat wets her temple as tiny beads of perspiration dotted her nose, and she remains like that for a while before the shaking subsides.

Haru rests a hand on her shoulder, a slow warmth seeping into the fabric of her sweater, before he turns her around – slowly – to face him. In his other hand was a glass of tap water. She is tempted to shrug him off, but the energy has left her completely.

"Here." He offers the cup to her. "Rinse and spit."

She doesn't take it.

"It's clean." He tries again, but still she makes no motion to accept it.

Growing impatient, Haru leaves it on the floor beside her. Wiping her chin with the back of her hand, Elise takes the glass and did as he said, washing the acrid taste from her mouth. Pour. Rinse. Spit. She does this three times before the cup is empty. With her head still spinning and eyes watery, she flushes it all down, elbows resting on the toilet seat as she watches the contents of her stomach disappear at the bottom of the whirlpool. She passes him on the way out, leaning against the wall for support. Haru begins to reach for her but stops, and instead resigns to watch her scuffle back into the room he allocated her – until the door swings shut and she disappears.

She is enshrouded by darkness, the silence deafening. Outside the rain stops, giving rise to the dewy petrichor like miasma as it arches its back, rubbing its muzzle against the window-panes. Night descends and drapes over the city like a velvet curtain as street lights blink themselves awake, inviting moths to dance around their sombre light.

Reina pulls the duvet from her makeshift-bed, wrapping it around herself like a cocoon before huddling into a ball in the corner with her back against the wall. The minutes snail into hours, and it almost feels like eternity before she succumbs to exhaustion. That night, for the first time, Reina prayed.

 _Let this be a bad dream, and let me wake up normal tomorrow._

.

.

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I do not own Durarara! Or "Safe and Sound" by Taylor Swift feat. Civil Wars (lyrics at the top)


End file.
